


Right ho, Emrys

by elfkinwoods



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Jeeves and Wooster, Comedy, Comedy of Errors, Complicated Relationships, Happy Ending, Magic Revealed, Memoirs, Misunderstandings, Multi, P.G. Wodeouse, POV Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), POV Merlin (Merlin), Romantic Comedy, True Love's Kiss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:02:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29199567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfkinwoods/pseuds/elfkinwoods
Summary: A collection of extracts from Mr A. Pendragon's memoirs and Mr M. Emrys's correspondence with his uncle Gaius reveals the string of errors taking place in Morgana's manor house, involving magic spell gone wrong, sibling bond on the verge of breaking, a string of truly messed up engagements, a series of misunderstandings, and of course, True Love's Kiss.Roughly set in a ficitonal 1920s England. Inspired by P.G.Wodehouse's Jeeves series and the TV adaptation.
Relationships: Freya/Gwaine (Merlin), Gwen/Lancelot (Merlin), Leon/Morgana (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Kudos: 6





	Right ho, Emrys

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Right ho, Emrys](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14558202) by [elfkinwoods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfkinwoods/pseuds/elfkinwoods). 



> This is a liberal translation of my original work in Chinese. I may tweak and change certain bits of phrasing but the main plot remains the same. 
> 
> English is not my first language, please do feel free to point out any horrendous butchering to grammar if you spot any. 
> 
> Also, I have on idea how aristocratic titles work or what life in a manor house is like - if you possess first-hand knowledge in these matters and wish to point out any inaccuracies you're more than welcome.

_(Editor’s Note: All events as told in this book are hereby presented from interviews with Mr Arthur Pendragon with the additional source of his personal journals; these recollections may appear somewhat contradictory to the memory of other participants as mentioned in the narratives. March 1970.)_

So, my sister Morgana asked me to visit Gracetree for some gathering, which was, in hindsight, rather a reasonable thing to do. You see, she is the only sibling I’ve got (not to mention the fact that despite our dear old mother, a parent we do happen to share, and our own dear old fathers, whom we neither share or remember much about; we might as well skip mentioning this other fact that my half-sister has her own half-sister, Morgause, who, by some complicated maths, is no blood relation to myself whatsoever), and of course she wanted to see me, out of family attachment and affection, as one does. Ever since I moved to London several years before, Gracetree has fallen under the care of Morgana, who kept horses and dogs, wrote novels, and was often in the habit of inviting friends around for tea and parties – she still does, mind you – but anyway, one would say it was a comfortable life that she was leading. Morgana herself spent quite a proportion of her time in London as well in those days, but her “sovereign”, as she calls it, was the estate. She likes the distinction it brought upon her person as opposed to the mish-mash that one inevitably gets drawn into in the massive dye vat that is called London. 

So, she telegrammed, and asked me to come. I did not think of regarding the matter with high vigilance, naturally. 

Emrys opened the door when it arrived – oh I forgot to mention, Emrys was my valet. His first name is Merlin (I should think he must have had quite a peculiar mother figure to have named her child _Merlin_ ). He had been with me for a couple of years, and crikey, isn’t he quite a character! – but truth be told, I found it generally difficult to manage without him. – So Emrys opened the door, got the telegram, and approached the bathroom to talk to me. I was shaving rather meticulously, and come to think of it, it must have looked quite funny with all the foamy chin and cheek and whatnot. But one would say I was quite a looker back then, and I’d say not all handsome men occupy a sense of self-deprecating humour like myself. 

‘Mr Pendragon.’ said Emrys. ‘Telegram for you, sir, from Gracetree.’ 

‘Ah, it must be my dear old sister!’ remarked I, as I observed my reflection in the looking glass. ‘Open it and read it aloud, Emrys.’ 

‘Very good, sir.’ Emrys opened the telegram and started reading accordingly. ‘ _“Arthur. Come immediately. Good news awaits. Two o’clock train G.T. Love, M.”_ Looks like Lady Morgana is eager for your presence. Shall I go pack now?’

‘Hang on a second,’ I popped out of the bathroom, clean shaven and charismatic as usual, only to see Emrys with his famously tousled hair – but his clothes were third cousins to tidy for a change. I, as one does, sighed silently inside. Whatever rumours had it out there, Arthur Pendragon was quite a name among the modern gentlemen in London, and let me tell you it did not look well on me to have around a valet that did not know how to groom himself. Nonetheless, I didn’t have the heart to tell him off about it; for one, he did not really bother to listen. Not to mention he really had some remarkable traits apart from scrambling eggs – but I’m getting ahead of myself. 

‘I wonder what got into my sister’s head this time.’ I said. ‘All this “come immediately” nonsense without telling one what’s going on. It is most confusing, I say.’

‘I rather think it is quite Lady Morgana’s style.’ Emrys shrugged. ‘She enjoys a bit of a surprise. Do you remember your birthday party last year, sir?’

I could not help but send a reproachful glare at him. ‘One could hardly forget having to crawl out of the fountain at Trafalgar Square at one in the morning.’ 

Emrys was grinning. He really loved to have a laugh most of the days, probably because he was still extremely young for a valet, and he’d only ever been hired by good-hearted, easy-going young gentlemen like myself. Whenever he smiled, his eyes became something not unlike two shining crescents, and Morgana once commented he bore a resemblance to an adorable bunny. This woman, I tell you, wrote so many novels that she took up talking like them too sometimes. But she was surprisingly accurate about Emrys in some sense. 

‘I seem to remember it was quite an enjoyable time, sir. And you didn’t actually get pinched in the end, you see.’

‘It was a narrow escape, Emrys. And I don’t like valets who take it upon themselves to laugh at masters who almost got tricked into the hands of the police.’ I tried to look stern and glared in the looking glass at Emrys, who was just helping me with my coat. 

‘Very good, sir. I promise you are not a joke to me, sir.’ But his face was still suspiciously smiley. ‘All done here. Shall I go and purchase a ticket for the afternoon train? It’s been a while since our last visit to Gracetree, and Lady Morgana must have lots of nice food in the kitchen for us. At the very least, aren’t you curious to find out what good news is waiting for you?’

‘Either she’s sold her novel to some publisher, or some other friend of hers got engaged. Ladies’ gossip or such things, I bet.’ 

‘I don’t think so. Morgana’s far too modern and intellectual to engage in such trivial matters as common gossip.’ 

‘Emrys,’ I gave my best at appearing solemn. ‘I have reminded you many times you are _not_ on a first-name basis with my sister.’ 

‘Well,’ he rubbed his hand against his hair, making it even messier. ‘ _Her ladyship_ told me to call her Morgana.’ 

I sighed audibly this time and let go of the matter. It was the 20th century, after all, and one had to keep up with one’s times. Ever since Emrys met Morgana after he started his employment under me, she had taken quite a liking to him. She had told me on several occasions that half of the reason why she invited me to Gracetree at all was Emrys. Now, this fellow was appallingly bad at tidying rooms and cooking meals (I suspect something related to rats or some other rodent appeared on my dinner table once, but let’s not mention that), but he was notoriously clever in certain crises, despite his stupidity in everything else. And he helped my sister solve many problems, including ridding her of a string of troublesome suitors. As things went, Morgana rather took Emrys as a friend; she started calling him Merlin and telling me to treat him better, which was quite hurtful in my opinion. But I’m not going to hold a grudge – after all, Emrys seemed quite content being my valet. 

And of course, I knew the value of my own valet, and needed no reminder from her. There were a couple of troublesome romantic escapades that Emrys helped me get out of using his tricks and strategies – you see, I was still in my youth, and when one was in one’s youth and enjoying it, one did not think of such abominable prospect as settling into a home and would rather make attempts to avoid it. 

It was not until after we’d got off the train and arrived at Gracetree Halls in Morgana’s Rolls-Royce that I realised I had been too optimistic about things. 

‘What a crowd you make, little Arthur.’ was Morgana’s greeting as she picked us up. ‘Morgause is here too. I am glad – it’s nice to have my closest kin here. Have you heard of Olaf Godwyn?’

‘The London publisher?’ Emrys interrupted. 

‘Yes, that’s him.’ nodded Morgana. ‘He has agreed to publish my new novel, and Mummy bumped into the Godwyns in London, hence their presence as guests at Gracetree at the moment. Listen, Arthur, Mr Godwyn has a daughter, Vivian, and she’s a pretty girl. The impression I get from Mummy is that you should perhaps connect with her a little bit more and see if any development can come out of it.’

I might have yelped, or I might have not. What I did was cast a beseeching look at Emrys, only to see him raise his eyebrows and watch me in a suspiciously joyous way, like how you would look at someone if they accidentally tripped over horse dung or something. Really, the cheekiness. 

‘But Morgana, I have no intention of connecting with the daughter of some London publisher or look out for potential development!’ I was a tad exasperated. ‘Is that the sole reason why you invited me here? This is heart-breaking.’

‘Don’t be silly, little Arthur, of course it’s not just that.’ Morgana gave me The Look, and in some corner of my heart a trace of hope rose that sibling affection had not completely died and we might not need to cut ties, after all. ‘I asked you here partly because of Merlin. I need to borrow him for a few days for a little favour.’ 

Well, that’s how the warmth of one’s hopes turn rapidly into icicles and hit the ground with a loud clang, if you know what I mean. 

‘My pleasure, your ladyship.’ Emrys gave her one of those moon-eyed smiles, picked up our luggage, and followed the butler at Gracetree into the halls. 

* * *

‘Well, I say, Emrys,’ I began to speak. We were in the bedroom that Morgana prepared for me. Emrys was sorting out my clothes. 

‘Sir?’

‘Do you happen to know anything about this Vivian Godwyn?’ 

‘Not very extensively. I’ve only heard my uncle Gaius mention the Godwyns are not easy to please.’ 

I sighed long and loud into the ceiling. Emry’s uncle was sort of a family acquaintance to us, and he was a deeply esteemed man in general. I shuddered to think what such people described as ‘not easy to please’ would be like if that description came from him. It constantly puzzled me what my dear mother had in her head as to wishing for matrimonial ties with such a family. As for my sister, we tended to have each other’s backs when it came to these matters, and it shocked me to see her join in on this scheme this time. 

‘I see what is happening here, Emrys.’ 

‘Sir?’

‘Morgana just wants a good drama. Preposterous! That’s how you went about being a good sister!’ 

Emrys glanced at me as he shoved my ties into the drawer. I noticed he did not bother to categorise them in any fashion. 

‘I hardly think Lady Morgana has such intentions as you speculate, sir.’ 

‘Emrys, no more of this!’ I shook my finger at him threateningly. ‘I know you’re most likely in on this with my sister and I know you’d enjoy it if I embarrass myself in front of the ladies.’ 

‘How could you ever doubt my loyalty and devotion like this?’ he yelled, feigning hurt, while shoving my shirts into the wardrobe with what looked like aborted attempts at folding. ‘Your expertise in making scenes in front of the ladies comes entirely from your extraordinary natural talent, sir, and has nothing to do with what Lady Morgana or I might have expected.’ 

I picked up the pillow from the bed and threw it at him. It missed, flying out of the window instead. 

‘Coming back to it, Emrys.’ I remembered what Morgana said earlier. ‘What is it that my sister wants your assistance for?’

‘That is her ladyship’s private business, sir.’ Emrys laughed. ‘She wants my advice; that’s all. Anything else you need, sir?’

I could see he had set his mind to side with Morgana on this and not reveal a single word for me. Not that I was in any way keen to pry on ladies’ private business, mind you, not to mention that of the horror that is my sister Morgana LeFay. You see, she could easily scare the wits out of ten strong men in single combat. (Not that I was particularly afraid of her, but a wise man needs to know where the boundaries lie. One wouldn’t want to end up like my friend Gwaine, who once got into her bad books.)

‘Looks like there isn’t, Emrys. Did you hear when the Godwyns are supposed to arrive?’

‘I heard Gwen from the kitchen mention they’re going to be here by dinner time.’ 

‘That’s not very far into the future.’ I said, in the kind of gloominess that one usually gets when one senses impending disaster.

‘Don’t worry, sir,’ Emrys smiled cunningly.’ Maybe Miss Godwyn is not as horrendous as legends go. If you don’t need anything else, I shall leave you to your own company for now – your sister needs me.’ 

And thus, he exited the room. I suddenly found myself a little lonely with my own company. In the past, whenever dear old Mummy set me up in this kind of calamity, I’d always had Emrys by my side with his constant chatter. Now that Morgana borrowed him for the devil knows what, I found that lack of chatter, or indeed, his general presence, something similar to a sense of emptiness. Of course, this is not to say I listened to Emrys on everything that mattered – after all, it was clear who was the master and who was the valet – but I guess I’d just grown too accustomed to his presence in times of need. 

The Godwyns came just before five o’clock, and the focus of my worries switched to them. I watched by the window as their car drove through the front entrance of Gracetree Halls, prepared myself like a true hero ready to rebel against destiny in one of those tragic Greek plays, and went downstairs, just in time to see Morgana leading old man Godwyn and Vivian inside. 

‘You haven’t met my brother Arthur, Mr Godwyn?’ Morgana was doing The Smile, which spoke of nothing but malice, particularly directed towards a certain brother. ‘Arthur, Mr Godwyn and Vivian.’ 

Mr Godwyn was of medium build and looked fairly amiable. He accosted me with a smile. His daughter, Vivian, on the other hand, was something of a different colour – the girl had golden hair and blue eyes: quite a looker, as Morgana said, but she held her chin up so high it almost went over the chandelier, and she shined of an aura even haughtier than Morgana. Something from the depth of my bones told me this is not someone one could deal with easily. 

And that something was proved to be true just after a few minutes. I bumped into Emrys in the hallway before dinner, and he leaned in close and whispered to me about how Vivian had scolded Gwen, and the poor girl was crying in the kitchen. (The poor girl being Gwen, of course, not Vivian Godwyn.) 

‘The kitchen staff have quite accurately nicknamed Miss Godwyn “Lady Caligula” – you know, the Roman tyrant.’ He said. I reminded him I knew all about Roman tyrants, all the way from Caligula to Nero and what’s-his-name, and that there was no necessity for him to show off his knowledge in this way. 

‘Whatever you say, sir.’

‘What was she scolding Gwen for?’

‘Sounds like she’s just picking bones from eggs, sir.’ Emrys replied. ‘ Miss Godwyn was not too pleased with her room, and took it out upon Gwen.’

‘What was she displeased for? It’s all Morgana’s arrangement, isn’t it?’

‘Miss Godwyn has been allocated the east wing room, you know, the one adjacent to yours. I believe Lady Morgana especially arranged this following Lady Igraine’s wishes.’

‘Oh, dash it! Lucky me!’ 

‘I would advise against letting Miss Godwyn hear that.’ Emrys was chuckling. I guess he must have looked upon it as particularly laughable business that I was forced to strike up such an acquaintance in order to please my dear mother. I pulled him by those ridiculous ears. ‘If Miss Godwyn did catch wind of any of this conversation, someone had better prepare himself for punishment!’

‘But if Miss Godwyn is to know of your lack of romantic affection for her, won’t that be what you want?’

And then, Emrys, completely neglectant of the feudal spirit, stuck out his tongue at me before retreating into the kitchen, leaving me to face that miserable tableful of people in the dining room.

Maybe miserable is a strong word. I remember the food was good. Morgana had hired a French chef, who performed exceedingly well that night, but one had little appetite when one was gloomy. I did not, as was the usual case, ask for second helpings for every course; I only finished what was on the plate before me instead. Morgana had arranged Vivian to sit on my left and Morgause on my right, while old man Godwyn was sitting beside Morgana herself. Throughout the evening, whenever Vivian’s look swept over me, she looked as if she was seeing something particularly revolting, as if Arthur Pendragon was not one of the most popular bachelors in all of London, but some beastly fool who understood nothing but devouring food. It should not be difficult to deduce how much that impacted my willingness to eat. 

The conversation was mostly led by the women. Old Godwyn was as amiable as he looked, and occasionally contributed, talking about Morgana’s novels, etcetera, etcetera. 

‘Your sister is an excellent epitome of modern female authors.’ he said to Morgause. ‘Lady Morgana’s books always hold a particularly sharp insight. My personal favourite is, of course, _Revolutionist at Avalon Abbey_.’

Even Morgause’s stone-like face showed a little smile at this - she and Morgana had always been close. 

‘I enjoy that novel very much myself. The characterisation of Sir Slattery especially calls for reflection on real life.’ she turned to Morgana. ‘Speaking of which, Morgana, how is the sequel going?’

‘I’ve just reached Chapter 3. Sir Slattery is trapped in tangled love once again, and there is nobody in sight to come to his rescue.’ said Morgana. ‘As for the main plot, I shan’t disclose that just yet; you’ll need to wait till the book comes out.’

Godwyn started talking about how Morgana must let him publish that too once she finished, and other things along those lines. As for myself, I rather hold a different opinion on Morgana’s novel - more than one person has remarked to me that they thought Sir Slattery, a lazy chap that was constantly getting himself into troubles, reminded them of me a lot. It might not come as a surprise to you, then, if I say I wasn’t much of a fan of that book.

Speaking of the devil - or rather thinking of, in this case - Vivian interrupted just as I was hoping the topic might change. ‘I think writing novels depends so much on taking inspiration from real life. I’ve read your _Revolutionist at Avalon Abbey_ , and it is obvious you based Sir Slattery on your brother.’

Morgana gave her The Eyebrow. A dangerous sign. It struck me as rather odd that she should find it equally offensive that people kept making connections between me and Sir Slattery. She once announced in a public meeting that she never had me on her mind at all when she was writing, but not many believed her. 

‘Sir Slattery’s behaviour is identical to that of Mr Pendragon.’ continued Vivian, casting an askance look at me. ‘Of course you know him so well that you managed to portray his walk and talk splendidly. This is marvellous.’ 

Morgana gave her The Other Eyebrow. I saw Morgause patting her hand. 

‘Are you a novelist yourself, Miss Godwyn?’ I felt I had to say something; otherwise who knows what monstrosity Morgana might have associated me with in her next book. 

‘Me? A novelist?’ Vivian let out a smirk. ‘It’s not really my thing - I’m far too busy. I haven’t got the time or the patience to patch up all those words and sentences. If you ask me, novelists are the single worst profession for the skin. They always stay up so late. Nothing matters more than good skin these days.’ 

‘No wonder.’ Morgana was doing The Grin with two rows of teeth, which gave her resemblance to a wolf somehow. Like my late father, Morgana had the ability to turn the fewest of words into something as sharp as a knife. It surprised me that Vivian didn’t back off. But then, I may as well go through a dozen incarnations before I understand that subtle balancing competition that is rumoured to go on between women. 

‘Arthur, my dear, darling brother,’ Morgana suddenly said to me. The Grin wasn’t gone yet, and I felt a shiver run through my insides. ‘How long has it been since you last saw Gwaine and Leon?’ 

I was much relieved at this change of topic. 

‘Saw them in London the other day. We rehearsed a new song at Camelot. Lancelot’s work again.’ 

‘So I heard. Lancelot’s sister, Freya, wrote to me about it.’ she said. ‘Lance is gifted with exceptional musical talent. I was thinking of asking them to come here tomorrow, and we could potentially all enjoy Lancelot’s new song.’

‘I say, that’ll be a marvellous idea!’ The Pendragon brain was operating at high speed, thinking if Gwaine, Leon, and Lancelot were all here, it would undoubtedly decrease my time spent alone with Vivian. I felt positively jubilant about Morgana’s proposal, for once. 

Old man Godwyn also spoke of how he knew the DuLacs a little back in London. He seemed to have a good impression on Lance and Freya (as everybody else), but knew little of Gwaine and Leon. Morgana started talking about organising a small performance once they were here, and everybody exchanged words of civilness before dinner ended. Vivian wanted to see the gardens, and Morgause agreed to show her the way. Morgana rang for the butler and told him to send a telegram to London. I found myself left in the company of old man Godwyn, as we retreated to the drawing room for port. 

It might not be difficult to imagine if, say, your poor old mother wants to you be better acquainted with this woman and possibly make something out of that acquaintance, but you have no warm feeling towards her, none whatsoever - just how awkward it would feel when you are left in the company of her father. So, Godwyn and I in the drawing room. We soon started consuming Morgana’s private collection - a little bit too liberally, perhaps - and talked about golf and racing. It was not the peak of Arthur Pendragon, let me tell you. Just think about it. I mean, Godwyn himself was an all right chap, but whenever I looked at him, I couldn’t help but imagine what a life I would have to lead if I followed dear mother’s wish and married his daughter. Cold sweat swept over my body, one wave after another. Godwyn was positive I was having some serious health problem. It was not until half past seven, when a telegram from London called Godwyn away, that I got to escape. I was walking towards my own room, when Morgana stopped me in the corridor. 

‘Arthur, wait for me in the library.’ She beckoned. For people who didn’t know her, she did have a majestic air about her sometimes. I used to think when I was a child that my sister would probably have been taken for a witch had she lived in the Middle Ages - but then few would have had the courage to look her in the eye and ask her to walk onto the pyre. 

‘Sir.’ I saw Emrys in the library as I entered. He was holding an empty tray as he exited the room, nodding to me slightly. Morgana went up to talk to him, and they went downstairs together. I sat down in Morgana’s library to wait for her. Catching the sight of a decanter and glasses, I naturally poured myself a drink - Morgana had the best taste, if anything. 

I was enjoying my brandy and contemplating on the possible cause for this call, when she came back with a letter in her hand. 

‘Wouldn’t you like some for yourself?’ I pointed at the decanter. She shook her head, sitting down in the opposite chair. 

‘No need. I’m not in the mood for drinking.’

‘This is odd.’ I said. ‘I’ve always held the belief that one should have a few glasses when one feels a bit under the weather.’ 

‘It’s because you are heartless.’ she snapped. 

So much for sibling warmth and more icicles, if you ask me. I was rather sad. Of course, when you have a sister like Morgana, you get used to being called heartless. As long as you remember you are not actually deprived of that primal organ, it shouldn’t matter too much to let your sister take it out on you from time to time. 

‘Arthur,’ she spoke again. ‘What do you think of Leon?’

‘Capital fellow!’ I said. ‘Not so much of an expert on cricket, but a splendid chap in everything else! He has character and intellect, and knows much about wine. Well, I personally don’t agree with his choice of sideburns, but, in average, in general, in London and in England, he is quite somebody.’ 

‘Appallingly bad with words.’ said Morgana with vengeance.

‘Is he?’ I recollected; it did strike me that Leon was not the most eloquent of men, but I saw no reason to justify such a level of dislike from Morgana. I told her so. She rolled her eyes at me. 

‘Come off it, Arthur. I didn’ t expect you to understand. Merlin is far more helpful in these things.’ 

‘Can you please stop talking about my valet in such a close manner?’ Somehow, I always felt a bit odd about Morgana addressing Emrys with his first-name. 

Morgana put on a condescendingly sweet smile. ‘Brother dear, it’s the 20th century, stop being so pedantic. Fine, let’s not talk about Leon. What do you think of Vivian Godwyn?’

I came very close to letting out a groan, but I swallowed it back for various reasons. 

‘This,’ I said. ‘is not an appropriate question. You can’t just ask me what I think of a lady.’ 

‘Oh, stop it.’ Morgana rolled her eyes again. ‘I can see right through you. Poor Mummy, I don’t know what’s got into her head! Wanting you to marry Vivian! I do hope Morgause does not turn berserk and murder her on their walk in the gardens. You don’t like her at all, apparently. ‘ This was true, but I could not quite just admit it to her; she continued. ‘She doesn’t seem to like you, either. Just put on some pretences, get through these days, and we’ll tell Mummy it didn’t work out, and the whole thing will be forgotten. Look at you! I don’t know why anybody would want to get you a match. It’s been too long since Mummy last saw you. She has positively forgotten what you’re like. I bet you wouldn’t even last two days without Merlin - maybe you should just stay a bachelor and spend the rest of your life with him.’ 

Colder and colder the cracked heart gets, when your own sister (well, half-sister) says such things to you. Our conversation did not last long, before Morgana and I bid each other goodnight. I took extreme care on my way back to the bedroom and, by a stroke of good luck, did not come across Vivian. 

Emrys was already waiting for me. 

‘Fresh out of purgatory, sir?’ he chuckled as he took my jacket off. A bath was ready. 

‘You don’t say, Emrys.’ I sighed long and loud again, letting myself sink into the hot water in the tub, feeling the warmth of hope enter my body again. ‘Vivian Godwyn is the most terrific female creature you can ever think of. Top 1 on the list of “Unsuitable Matches for Arthur Pendragon”. I mean, her father, old man Godwyn, is a nice chap; I like how he talks about horses. I wouldn’t mind living under the same roof with him, talking about racing and port and all that, but if I was to spend every morning eating sausages and bacon out of the same plate with his daughter, no, thank you very much, Arthur Pendragon out!’

‘I don’t view Miss Godwyn an ideal partner for a gentleman myself.’ Emrys’s voice filtered through the bathroom door as he was tidying up outside. He never really considered whether it was in his place to offer me matrimonial advice; he just went on. However, a modern gentleman such as myself, I didn’t _really_ mind. After all, although it pains me to admit it, I viewed him more as a friend than a servant even back in those days. 

_(Editor’s Note: At this point of the interview, Mr Emrys enters the library in which the recording takes place, with tea and biscuits. The conversation between Mr Emrys and Mr Pendragon are omitted here as according to the wish of both gentlemen. March 1970.)_

I told Emrys about Morgana’s plan. With the additional company of Leon, Gwaine, and the DuLacs, Gracetree would certainly become a more jolly place. ‘Moreover, if I get to play golf with the gang or something to that effect, I won’t have to spend that much time with Vivian. When we visit Mummy next, I can just say we simply didn’t catch each other’s eye, and there’s nothing she could do.’

‘I feel this is a most appropriate arrangement too, sir. A hot cocoa before bed?’

I contemplated in the bathtub, and decided the Pendragon spirit had been exposed to much hurt during the day and that a hot cocoa would be well deserved, so I told Emrys to get one for me from the kitchen. Naturally, bearing no such thing as hierarchy in mind, he got one for himself too, and sipped on it most joyfully while making my bed. It was a miracle he didn’t spill it all over the sheets. 

‘Goodnight, sir.’ he turned off the lights as he left. ‘Hope everything goes well tomorrow.’ 

Well, I had that thought in mind too as I went to bed. Talk with the gang, play some golf, get through the next couple of days, forget about Vivian as much as possible, etcetera. Who would’ve thought what could possibly go wrong?

What went wrong, let me tell you, was that just as I woke up to the sound of Gwaine’s car driving through the entrance, I found myself madly in love with Vivian!

**Author's Note:**

> I will try to update regularly! Since the story is already written it just takes time to translate it into English - it is a finished piece, I promise!
> 
> Meanwhile, any feedback is appreciated! <3


End file.
